


This Is It

by Erinwolf1997



Category: Twenty One Pilots, fun.
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Civil War, Camp, Civil War, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Guns, Historical Inaccuracy, Love Letters, Some Nights (Music Video), War, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:53:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erinwolf1997/pseuds/Erinwolf1997
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is it, boys, this is war.<br/>Conversation throughout the camp created a miniature cacophony as he stared blankly, holding the food, but mind straying to the letter he kept in his inside pocket.<br/>His eyes glazed and tired, he scanned the crowd he was sitting with. Nate. Jack. One named Andrew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is It

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this based off the music video for Some Nights. I was also inspired by the line from Clear by Twenty One Pilots: "Wage war on you, therefore it's true, that I shot my general on my side of enemy lines."  
> I started writing it almost a year ago, and lost steam, so I'm unsure if it will ever be finished. Hopefully yes.

     Dark clouds filled the sky, covering the camp in a pale, lifeless light. The welcoming glow of the crackling fire was whispering its last words. The cry of a hawk in the anxious autumn morning was displaced among the quick gasps of weight upon dry leaves and bark. The air was heavy and still, a premonition of the rain soon to come. Man was completely balanced against nature.  
     The tents were a dark sandy color, dirty from past days in the dust, rain, and wind. From a distance they looked like triangular beasts, sleeping, without breath. No one was sleeping in them now; eight in the morning was like a full 12 hours sleep to these men, who had been getting up before dawn each chilly morning.  
     Instead the soldiers sat quietly, most in the tents and some facing the weather at the remains of the campfire. Those sitting in front of it wore blank faces, a morning like this sucked the life from them. They prodded the airy white ashes with oak branches.      The soot puffed up into little pale snowstorms and buried the luminescent embers until they went cold. Occasionally, in the distance there was the wary cry of a harmonica, that was silenced within seconds. After a few minutes of dazzling silence broken again and again by brassy tones, the camp begun to rustle.  
     One of the men prodding the charred firewood was joined by an almost eager soldier, who mimicked him in sitting on the old, bent log. A hawk cried again.  
     "Looks like there's gonna be some rough weather," he said in a mumble. His hair was unruly from sleep and he glanced briefly at him with his blue-grey eyes. He stared at the ashes, which the breeze picked up and tossed around.  
     The man with the stick nodded. "Looks like its could be uncomfortable."  
     "Probably. The muskets, can they even work when they're wet?"  
     He put down the stick and chuckled. "How'd you even get yourself into this? You don't know how a musket works? Where'd you come from?"  
     "Out west. I just - just needed to get away."  
     The rest of the camp had begun to stir. More soldiers were crawling from the tents, fully clothed, quiet but cheerful among their tight-knit friends. Some sat near them by the campfire, some sat under neighboring trees, chatting in groups, breath clouding up to meet the sky.  
     He continued, "And you?"  
     "Nearby. New York State." He took off his jacket, for another fellow soldier had got some kindling and was trying to relight it with a box of matches that looked like it had been left out in the rain.  
     Grey-eyes retrieved a dry box from his pocket. "Jack." He was talking to the one struggling with the fire. He tossed them to him and turned back, noticing a name stitched on the inside of the jacket.  
     "Your name's Levi?"  
     Levi nodded.  
     "A pleasure. Nathaniel. Call me Nate."  
     The fire was now ablaze and the majority of the soldiers had begun to crouch around it, warming their hands and murmuring. The person with the harmonica from earlier had found the right time to begin playing. Levi found himself zoning out, staring into the mesmerizing fire. Soon, every man around the fire had in his cold hands a tin mug of gritty coffee. Levi stood up, worried there'd be none left; coffee was the only thing that could distract him from the constant hunger and the subtle longing for home.  
     He poured himself a cup after getting a mug. There was enough left for a cup but they were nearing the end and it was sludgy from the coffee grounds. He sat back down, next to Nate, who was sitting next to the soldier that had been called Jack. The fire burned his face with its even, fiery heat and he sipped considerately at the coffee until the warmth consumed him. The constant chatter became a murmur as the men started preparing themselves for the drills that were to come. 


End file.
